mother, proud of grasping the distinction. "You ought to be not interrupting Mr Durham, whereas you—"
"—is," supplied Ada, and the family laugh made Clive jump.
"We are and we ought to be," concluded Mrs Hall. "Very different."
"Not always," contradicted Clive.
"Not always, remember that, Kitty," she echoed, vaguely admonitory: on other occasions he had not minded her. Kitty cried back to her first assertion. Ada was saying anything, Maurice nothing. He was eating away placidly, too used to such table talk to see that it worried his friend. Between the courses he told an anecdote. All were silent to listen to him. He spoke slowly, stupidly, without attending to his words or taking the trouble to be interesting. Suddenly Clive cut in with "I say— I'm going to faint," and fell off his chair.
"Get a pillow, Kitty: Ada, eau de cologne," said their brother. He loosened Clive's collar. "Mother, fan him; no; fan him . . ."
"Silly it is," murmured Clive.
As he spoke, Maurice kissed him.
"I'm all right now."
The girls and a servant came running in.
"I can walk," he said, the colour returning to his face.
"Certainly not," cried Mrs Hall. "Maurice'U carry you—Mr Durham, put your arms round Maurice."
"Come along, old man. The doctor: somebody telephone." He picked up his friend, who was so weak that he began to cry.
"Maurice—I'm a fool."
"Be a fool," said Maurice, and carried him upstairs, undressed him, and put him to bed. Mrs Hall knocked, and going out to her he said quickly, "Mother, you needn't tell the others I kissed Durham."
"Oh, certainly not."
"He wouldn't like it. I was rather upset and did it without thinking. As you know, we are great friends, relations almost."
It sufficed. She liked to have little secrets with her son; it reminded her of the time when she had been so much to him. Ada joined them with a hot water bottle, which he took in to the patient.
"The doctor'll see me like this," Clive sobbed.
"I hope he will."
"Why?"
Maurice lit a cigarette, and sat on the edge of the bed. "We want him to see you at your worst. Why did Pippa let you travel?"
"I was supposed to be well."
"Hell take you."
"Can we come in?" called Ada through the door.
"No. Send the doctor alone."
"He's here," cried Kitty in the distance. A man, little older than themselves, was announced.
"Hullo, Jowitt," said Maurice, rising. "Just cure me this chap. He's had influenza, and is supposed to be well. Result he's fainted, and can't stop crying."
"We know all about that," remarked Mr Jowitt, and stuck a thermometer into Clive's mouth. "Been working hard?"
"Yes, and now wants to go to Greece."
"So he shall. You clear out now. I'll see you downstairs."
Maurice obeyed, convinced that Clive was seriously ill. Jowitt followed in about ten minutes, and told Mrs Hall it was nothing much—a bad relapse. He wrote prescriptions, and said he would send in a nurse. Maurice followed him into the garden, and, laying a hand on his arm, said, "Now tell me how ill he is. This isn't a relapse. It's something more. Please tell me the truth."
"He's all right," said the other; somewhat annoyed, for he
piqued himself on telling the truth. "I thought you realized that. He's stopped the hysteria and is getting off to sleep. It's just an ordinary relapse. He will have to be more careful this time than the other, that's all."
"And how long will these ordinary relapses, as you call them, go on? At any moment may he have this appalling pain?"
"He's only a bit uncomfortable—caught a chill in the car, he thinks."
"Jowitt, you don't tell me. A grown man doesn't cry, unless he's gone pretty far."
"That is only the weakness."
"Oh, give it your own name," said Maurice, removing his hand. "Besides, I'm keeping you."
"Not a bit, my young friend, I'm here to answer any difficulties."
"Well, if it's so slight, why are you sending in a nurse?"
"To amuse him. I understand he's well off."
"And can't we amuse him?"
"No, because of the
"—is," supplied Ada, and the family laugh made Clive jump.
"We are and we ought to be," concluded Mrs Hall. "Very different."
"Not always," contradicted Clive.
"Not always, remember that, Kitty," she echoed, vaguely admonitory: on other occasions he had not minded her. Kitty cried back to her first assertion. Ada was saying anything, Maurice nothing. He was eating away placidly, too used to such table talk to see that it worried his friend. Between the courses he told an anecdote. All were silent to listen to him. He spoke slowly, stupidly, without attending to his words or taking the trouble to be interesting. Suddenly Clive cut in with "I say— I'm going to faint," and fell off his chair.
"Get a pillow, Kitty: Ada, eau de cologne," said their brother. He loosened Clive's collar. "Mother, fan him; no; fan him . . ."
"Silly it is," murmured Clive.
As he spoke, Maurice kissed him.
"I'm all right now."
The girls and a servant came running in.
"I can walk," he said, the colour returning to his face.
"Certainly not," cried Mrs Hall. "Maurice'U carry you—Mr Durham, put your arms round Maurice."
"Come along, old man. The doctor: somebody telephone." He picked up his friend, who was so weak that he began to cry.
"Maurice—I'm a fool."
"Be a fool," said Maurice, and carried him upstairs, undressed him, and put him to bed. Mrs Hall knocked, and going out to her he said quickly, "Mother, you needn't tell the others I kissed Durham."
"Oh, certainly not."
"He wouldn't like it. I was rather upset and did it without thinking. As you know, we are great friends, relations almost."
It sufficed. She liked to have little secrets with her son; it reminded her of the time when she had been so much to him. Ada joined them with a hot water bottle, which he took in to the patient.
"The doctor'll see me like this," Clive sobbed.
"I hope he will."
"Why?"
Maurice lit a cigarette, and sat on the edge of the bed. "We want him to see you at your worst. Why did Pippa let you travel?"
"I was supposed to be well."
"Hell take you."
"Can we come in?" called Ada through the door.
"No. Send the doctor alone."
"He's here," cried Kitty in the distance. A man, little older than themselves, was announced.
"Hullo, Jowitt," said Maurice, rising. "Just cure me this chap. He's had influenza, and is supposed to be well. Result he's fainted, and can't stop crying."
"We know all about that," remarked Mr Jowitt, and stuck a thermometer into Clive's mouth. "Been working hard?"
"Yes, and now wants to go to Greece."
"So he shall. You clear out now. I'll see you downstairs."
Maurice obeyed, convinced that Clive was seriously ill. Jowitt followed in about ten minutes, and told Mrs Hall it was nothing much—a bad relapse. He wrote prescriptions, and said he would send in a nurse. Maurice followed him into the garden, and, laying a hand on his arm, said, "Now tell me how ill he is. This isn't a relapse. It's something more. Please tell me the truth."
"He's all right," said the other; somewhat annoyed, for he
piqued himself on telling the truth. "I thought you realized that. He's stopped the hysteria and is getting off to sleep. It's just an ordinary relapse. He will have to be more careful this time than the other, that's all."
"And how long will these ordinary relapses, as you call them, go on? At any moment may he have this appalling pain?"
"He's only a bit uncomfortable—caught a chill in the car, he thinks."
"Jowitt, you don't tell me. A grown man doesn't cry, unless he's gone pretty far."
"That is only the weakness."
"Oh, give it your own name," said Maurice, removing his hand. "Besides, I'm keeping you."
"Not a bit, my young friend, I'm here to answer any difficulties."
"Well, if it's so slight, why are you sending in a nurse?"
"To amuse him. I understand he's well off."
"And can't we amuse him?"
"No, because of the
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